Dirty Playboy

by Wolf, Alex

  What the hell am I going to say?

  I know what I want to say, but fuck, man. These are the ultimate stakes. Why does all my goddamn confidence go right out the window with her? Why does she bring me to my damn knees the way she does?

  In my heart, I think it’s because if I don’t call, she can’t reject me, tell me I’m an idiot. Right now, doing nothing, there’s still hope. But if I call and she tells me to fuck off, it’s over.

  I should’ve fucking kissed her. How did I not kiss her? I mock myself relentlessly in my head, over and over. This is all I’ve done the past three days.

  Not once in the history of Rick Lawrence has this happened with a woman. I would imagine it’s because I’ve never actually cared about one, but I still figured I’d come through like Jordan in the clutch when it really mattered. Like Jimi Hendrix and the Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock. You just do something over and over in life, until it’s a habit and you can do it in your sleep without thinking.

  I’m a motherfucking choke artist to the third power plus tax.

  I glance over at the phone, my brain still going apeshit.

  All these thoughts keep me from pressing that button, calling her up and telling her I’m sorry and what’s going to happen next. She’s going to be mine and that’s how the world works from this minute forward.

  I talk to myself out loud. “Okay, I’m calling. This is what’s gonna happen, Rick. Fucking call her up, no pussy tone in your voice, commanding as fuck, and tell her you’re sorry, but she’s getting kissed next time. We don’t give a fuck how lame it sounds, Richard Pussyface, it’s what you’re doing. This is the love of your life. You can’t let her get away. Grow a goddamn sack down there.”

  Maybe I won’t say exactly that, but it’s enough for my finger to press the button.

  Ringing.

  More ringing.

  Holy fucking shit, I hit the button. It’s still ringing. She could pick up any second.

  The thought fucking terrifies me and excites me simultaneously.

  My heart redlines like an Indy car and my palms immediately clam up. Why do I both hate and love how nervous this woman makes me? It’s a euphoric rush anytime I’m just thinking about her, just the possibility I may get to hear her voice at any moment.

  Regardless of these strange reactions, I’m not getting off the phone until she knows how I feel. I don’t give a shit how lame I sound. These feelings are real between both of us. I saw it on her face. I could feel it in her hand when her fingers intertwined with mine. Being with Mary could crumble my entire empire I’ve built, crush the foundation, but I don’t care.

  More ringing.

  Doesn’t look promising.

  Eight rings.

  Nine rings.

  Voicemail.

  “Fuck!”

  I wouldn’t say I’m angry per se, but she’s at home, and she just ignored my call on purpose. I know everything about everyone. Thankfully, without thinking it through, my fingers fly into a frenzy texting her and I hit send. Shit, what’d I just do? It wasn’t the nicest message.

  Me: Pick up the phone.

  Possibly not the best strategy, Rick, but what’s done is done.

  I shrug to myself and wait.

  Mary Magdalene: I’m busy.

  I smile to myself the second I get a notification. Not too busy to respond. If she was seriously pissed or disappointed, if there was no hope there, she would’ve ignored me. And lucky for me, this is where I excel. All I needed was an opening.

  Me: No you’re not. You’re watching The Last Dance.

  Mary Magdalene: Wrong. It comes on on Sundays.

  Me: Yeah, and you’re at the church on Sunday evenings and too tired to watch when you get home, so you DVR it and catch up on Tuesdays and Thursdays because you’re a closet basketball fan. It’s part of why you moved to Chicago.

  I grin my ass off as the bubbles start bouncing on the screen, waiting for what I know is coming.

  Mary Magdalene: How in the world do you possibly know that? Have you been staring at me through my window?

  This would be so much more satisfying via an actual phone conversation, so I could listen for her reactions, interpret the tone in her voice, but she’s talking to me, so I’ll take what I can get.

  Me: Oh, Mary, what I would give to be perched on a tree and watch you through your window.

  She doesn’t respond right away, but she’s smiling at her phone right now. It’s a sixth sense I’ve never felt about a woman in my life. We’re entangled somehow, spiritually or on a quantum level. I’m not sure what force drives it, but it belongs to us. It’s ours and there’s not another damn human on the planet who could have this connection with her. Only me.

  Before she can respond, I text her back.

  Me: I’ll tell you how I really know, if you answer the phone.

  I don’t wait for a reply and call her again. She answers on the third ring.

  “I can’t believe you got me to pick up the phone.”

  “I can.” I stare off out my window, picturing her lying there, wishing I were there with her.

  “Oh really? Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re still curious about me. The same way I am about you.”

  She thinks about what I said for a second. “Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe about it, and I’m sorry about the other night, after the date.”

  Whew, I said it. Might sound like a bitch, but I want to be real and raw and honest with her, show her parts of me, despite the fact I could end up hurt worse than I’ve ever been in my life. She might be the only person I trust with my truths, well, most of them anyway.

  “Did you just apologize to me? It doesn’t sound very Rick-like. And what are you apologizing for?”

  “I messed up. I got nervous, scared really. I’m being one hundred percent honest right now. Not trying to be cocky, but that’s never happened to me before, ever.” For some reason, I sense her smiling at that. Now, she knows it wasn’t about her, but I’m going to tell her anyway. “It wasn’t anything you did wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Mary. I should’ve kissed you. Fuck, I wanted to so bad. You have no idea.” I want to kiss her right now, and never stop.

  Mary laughs, hard. Harder than I’ve ever heard her laugh. I wasn’t really telling a joke.

  “Uhh, you okay?”

  Through a fit of laughter, she says, “Yeah, I’m just a little concerned.”

  “Concerned? About me?”

  “Yeah, you’ve never said the f-word in front of me. I don’t think you’ve ever cursed in front of me.”

  I smile at that. Damn, I think she’s right. I really was an idiot, pretending to be a perfect, wholesome man. “You told me to be myself, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I know everyone wants to treat me with kid gloves for whatever reason, but I can handle words, believe it or not. They don’t bother me.”

  For some reason, I still feel guilty though. That’s the thing about Mary. I want to be better around her. I don’t want to curse and be crude. She makes me want to—I don’t know—actually grow up, accomplish things.

  “You know why everyone treats you with kid gloves.”

  “I really don’t. It’s not like I preach sermons to people in the office. I don’t even talk about church at the firm. I just do my job as best as I can.”

  I love how easy the conversation is flowing between us. It was the same way on the date, and it’s the same way now. Why didn’t I just be myself from the beginning? Act like a normal human being and ask her out? She probably would’ve said yes.

  “Sure, but…”

  “But what?” she says with a mocking accusatory tone.

  I smile at her reaction. “Come on. You may not say it, but everyone knows you’re the smart kid in class. The studious one. Does their homework on time. Never gets in trouble. Always early. Loves the Lord with all their heart. That’s why they treat you that way. And I’m a
bsolutely not saying that’s a bad thing at all. I’m just saying. Perception trumps reality for most people.”

  Mary sighs. “I mean, I guess.”

  “What do you mean you guess? You know I’m right.” I snicker a little at the end, to let her know the conversation is still light-hearted.

  “Well, I’m not perfect and I don’t pretend to be. I’ve done things.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?” Now, I’m intrigued.

  I can practically hear her face palm on the other end of the line, and she laughs. “I should’ve never said that out loud. I should know my audience better.”

  “Yes, you should, but it’s too late for all that now. Give it up!”

  She hems and haws on the other end of the line. “Well, I’m trying to think.”

  “I’m sure you are. Thinking really hard about it. Tough to find a story out of the multitude of instances.”

  “Such a jerk.” She laughs. “Oh, okay, I got one.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “One time…”

  “If you say ‘at band camp’ this will be the greatest phone call ever.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing, continue please.”

  “One time at church, when I was younger, I set off a stink bomb I got at the fair. And it smelled so bad they had to have the service outside.”

  “Well, I must say…” I die laughing. “I’m impressed. That’s quite the crime.”

  “Oh shut up! I’ve done other stuff too.”

  “I bet.”

  “I have!”

  “Sorry, not buying it.”

  “Well, I’ve seen the movie American Pie.”

  It takes my brain a full five seconds to compute what she just told me. Wait, that means, when I made the band camp joke, she totally caught the reference to a flute in a pussy and played it off.

  I damn near choke when I try to respond. “Say what?”

  “You want me to finish your little quote from the movie?”

  God yes! “I, uhh…”

  “I think you just lost at this little game of yours. I think that’s what happened.”

  I think she might be right. So, Mary watched a movie with some masturbation and nudity. Now I really do wonder what else she’s done. Is she a closet freak? Just looks all straight-laced, but likes it rough? Has a case full of sex toys?

  Fuck, my dick gets hard just thinking about it. I lay back on the couch and stare down between my legs, and it aches so damn bad. I haven’t jerked off in two months. That’s not a lie. It’s all because of Mary. I used to be a two-to-three-times-a-day guy. It happened after the first time I saw her, and the few times I’ve given in to temptation, I thought about her. I’ve never even been with another woman in my own mind.

  “You still there?” she asks.

  “Yeah, this whole idea of you just shifted on its axis a little back there.”

  “Oh.”

  My eyes widen. “Not in a bad way, at all.”

  “In a perverted way?”

  “I mean, I didn’t say it.”

  “Just ask what you want to ask.”

  Somehow my dick gets even harder. Are we diving into some sex talk here?

  “Okay then, are you—”

  She cuts me off. “You never said how you knew what I was doing earlier.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me.”

  I can practically feel her grin from across Chicago. She so did that on purpose. Got me worked up, then changed the subject. I think she knows me better than I know myself.

  In a rapid-fire response, I say, “Saw you on your work computer adding it to your DVR at work one day when I looked over your shoulder, and you sometimes carry a Bulls mug, and you have a Jordan sticker on your car. Now, back to…”

  “You notice every single detail about everything, don’t you? You have a photographic memory or something?”

  I shake my head. “I just pay attention. I’m not a genius. People tell you everything you want to know about them, if you just listen.”

  “Okay then, Rick. I believe you. Not just about that. About what happened the other night too. I thought it was my fault, that I did something wrong.”

  My hands ball into fists at the thought of causing her pain or making her feel rejected. I’m such an idiot. “I’m sorry. Trust me, it will never happen again.”

  “And so you know, I’m really not perfect, and I’m not innocent, and I’m still a woman with needs, just like any other biological human being.”

  Holy. Shit.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  My hand finds its way to my cock just thinking about being with her. But beyond that, it’s not just about fooling around with Mary, or sleeping with her. I actually picture myself being with her, and I can’t find anything wrong with it. My heart aches when she’s not around. Every time something happens, I want to call her and tell her about it. I want to tell her every detail about me.

  Just tell her things, then. Stop fucking around.

  “You looked so beautiful on our date. I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

  “Thank you.”

  My stomach tightens up like a middle-school boy with a crush when I think about my next question. Usually, it’d just roll off the tongue, but I’m so afraid I’m going to scare her away, despite all the clues pointing in the opposite direction. “What are you wearing right now?”

  Silence. Awkward silence.

  So awkward I almost just hang up the phone, but finally, she responds.

  “Pajama pants and a t-shirt.”

  Holy fuck, she’s playing along.

  “Bra?”

  “No.” Her word comes out on a breathy whisper.

  I fist my hard cock. Why is this a million times better than any actual sex I’ve had with anyone else? Because it’s Mary.

  “Do exactly what I say, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Wow. I expected her to run for the hills. She wasn’t lying when she said she has needs too. My heart is pumping so hard I can hear it in my ears.

  This tells me a few things. Mary definitely feels the same way I do about her. Well, she might not be in love with me, yet, but the same connection is there. She also needs me just as bad as I need her, physically. The fact she forgave me so easily just solidifies what I already thought.

  “Reach down and slide your pants halfway down your thighs.”

  There’s a light rustling on the phone. Fuck me, she’s doing it.

  “Okay done. What are you doing right now?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a hand on my cock, working it up and down.”

  “Is it hard?”

  I smile at her question. She doesn’t ask it in a super sexy way, more like a curious, scientific way.

  “I don’t know if he’s ever been this hard before.”

  “What do you want me to do next?”

  “Take a hand and slide it down your stomach.”

  “Okay.”

  “Slowly, put it between your legs and touch yourself.”

  I can hear her breathing into the phone mic and my cock aches so goddamn bad, I think I might come just at the sound of it. I can’t stop picturing her, there in her apartment, pants around her thighs, playing with herself. I want to be there so damn bad, just take over, and make her come repeatedly on my face.

  “Are you doing it?” I ask.

  “Mmhmm.” This time, when she half-moans as she speaks, it absolutely sounds sexy as fuck.

  I groan a little, and my hand comes up from my cock, and I bite my knuckle to keep from growling into the phone. Every animalistic instinct in my body takes over.

  “Tell me what it feels like.”

  “Hot and wet,” she says, through a few labored breaths.

  Fuck me.

  I start to say something else, but there’s a shriek and I hear the phone hit the floor.

  “Mary! You ok
ay?” What the fuck? Did someone just walk in on her? They better not be fucking looking at her.

  There’s rustling on the other end, then nothing but laughter.

  I half-laugh, nervously, as I hear her voice return to the line.

  “You okay?”

  She’s damn near hyperventilating and it’s so damn cute, and at the same time I’m so worked up I might come unglued if I don’t bust a fucking nut soon.

  “Y-yes,” she finally manages to laugh out the words.

  “What the hell was that?”

  She finally takes a few breaths, composes herself, and says, “My mom sent me a text, right when I was, well, you know?”

  I burst into a laugh myself, knowing what’s coming.

  “I kind of shrieked, I think, because her name popped up on the phone, and I thought it might be a Face-Time call as I was doing, well… Okay, back up, I had you propped up on speaker phone, so I could have two free hands, and saw her name, stumbled around, rolled over, smacked the phone across the room, and fell off my bed. Okay, I’m thoroughly embarrassed now.”

  I shake my head, imagining how pink her face must be. “We’re something else, aren’t we?”

  I can practically see her grin in the way she responds. “Yes, we sure are.”

  As bad as I want to pick up where we left off, I don’t want to keep her if she needs to call her mom. “Do you need to call her back?”

  “Yeah, pretty soon. She might worry.”

  “Okay.” There’s an awkward silence, like neither of us knows what to say. “Mary?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thursday night. Another real date. It’s happening, okay?”

  “Okay. But, Rick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m putting myself out there, which is something I don’t normally do. In fact, it’s frightening. And if what happened last time…”

  “It won’t,” I say with all the finality I can conjure.

  “Okay.”

  Without thinking, I say, “Listen up, Mary. I’m going to kiss you so hard you feel it in your toes.”

  Finally, I fucking deliver a half-decent line.

  I can practically feel her blushing right now. I don’t know how to describe it other than it’s akin to being on top of the world, conquering Mount Everest or finishing an Iron Man competition.

  She pauses for a few long seconds. “Rick?”